


Elbow Room

by Waldo



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-27
Updated: 2000-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 21:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waldo/pseuds/Waldo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel doesn't want Jack to touch him.  But two can play at that game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elbow Room

Jesus. Jack can be so immature sometimes. I had my coffee cup in front of me on the briefing table. I was still cold from my trek in from the parking lot, so I had my hands wrapped around the warm ceramic. When I leaned forward to rest my elbows on the table, I accidentally bumped Jack’s elbow.

So, of course, he elbowed me back. When I glared at him for making my coffee slosh around, he changed tactics. He shifted in his chair like he needed to stretch his legs and shouldered me. No one was looking, so I shouldered him back. When he bumped his knee against mine under the table. I just glared again.

I should know better by now. If you don’t respond to Jack’s baiting, he’ll just keep escalating until you have no choice. He kicked my foot.

I very nonchalantly, eyes still on Sam’s slide show, stomped on his toes in response. Now, you can’t do much damage through steel-toed combat boots, but since Jack is the one person on the team to bitch for forty-five minutes about a splinter, I wasn’t surprised when he yelped.

Of course, everyone else in the room was.

I’ve perfected the completely innocent, completely oblivious expression. I looked just as surprised as everyone else in the room and managed a very indignant “What?!” when he shot me a look.

Hammond told him to sit still and behave like he was an errant nine-year old. I think emotionally he is.

I gave Jack the look they all gave me when they thought I was going crazy and turned back to Sam’s slides.

  
***(O)***

  
Daniel’s gonna get his tonight. Payback in spades. He thinks that since I didn’t start anything at lunch, that I’ve forgotten, or at least forgiven. The revenge I have in mind will be completely thorough, but even I’m not cruel enough to start something on base that I’m not willing to finish. Well, truth be told, I’m not willing to be CAUGHT finishing.

We ship out tomorrow. Which means Daniel will be showing up tonight. It’s become a bit of a ritual (and we all know Daniel is all over rituals) for us. We’ve had too many occasions where one or both of us doesn’t make it back in one piece. And way, way too times where it looks like one of us apparently won’t be making it back at all. So now, we make sure that if it’s at all possible, we leave lasting memories that will help us get through the first few days after we get home. Just in case.

Not tonight. Well, not without a lot of begging on a certain someone’s part. Don’t want me to touch you, huh, Danny? Remember... you asked for it.

  
***(O)***

  
Jack’s acting weird. Well, weirder than normal. Every time I move towards him, he (in his estimation, anyway) subtly moves away. He’s not mad. We’ve been teasing each other all evening, fighting over what to watch on t.v. and what to eat for dinner. It’s all been very good-natured, but he’s keeping a distance between us. Nothing horrifically obvious, he handed me the salt instead of scooting it across the table at me. He stood behind me when I was working on the salad and stretched up along my backside as he reached into the cabinet over my head, but when I went to lean back into him, he moved away. When I stretched out my legs on the couch, and planted my feet on his lap, he stood up and said, “If you want the whole couch to stretch out on, you could have just asked,” and he went and sat in the arm chair.

Now he’s pulling extra sheets and pillows out of the hall closet. Fine Jack, I’ll ask. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you some blankets.”

“Something wrong with the ones on your bed?”

“Yeah, they don’t reach to the couch.”

“The couch?!” He knows damn well that I didn’t drive across town to sleep on his couch.

“You’re the one with the sudden need for elbow room. I figured the bed might be too small for you, I might bump into you.”

Smartass. I change tactics on him... this makes him crazy.

Dropping my glasses on the coffee table, I adopt a pose that Jack once told me was sexy as hell (I feel stupid, but it does seem to work) and saunter up to him. “I was rather hoping you’d ‘bump into me’ tonight.”

“What, and get my toes stomped on again? No way. I’m not that much of a masochist.”

He’s so playing with me. I can see that something has his attention. He knows damn well that those sweats he’s wearing don’t leave much to the imagination, so he has to know that I know that I do have the upper hand here. “Fine. Grab me an extra top sheet too, okay?” I head back into the living room.

  
***(O)***

  
Exactly when the fuck did I lose control here? Maybe a better question would be, when the fuck did I ever *have* control here? Maybe an even better one would be, How the fuck am I going to both get laid and maintain my dignity. I am *not* crawling over to that couch and telling him that I give up. God only knows what kind of crap he’d manage to bribe me out of if I did that.

But I wasn’t *really* planning on a five finger salute tonight, either.

  
***(O)***

  
One of these days, Jack, you’ll learn to play with the big boys. I’m an archeologist and anthropologist. I notice things. I notice *everything*. Right now I notice that you’re standing at the linen closet with a boner the size of Teal’c’s staff weapon and the expression of a clubbed mackerel.

“Actually, you know, if this evening isn’t going to live up to its usual billing, I should probably head home. I’ll end up with a sore neck if I try and sleep on this four-foot sofa of yours.” I stand up and stretch, heading for the coat closet.

I open the door, reach for my jacket and - what the fuck was that???

The sheet. Jack has me wrapped in the sheet. His hand is poking over my face... looking for my glasses I suppose, making sure he doesn’t break them in whatever he’s going to do next. Under most circumstances, someone throwing a sheet over my head and tossing me over their shoulder and dragging me off down the hall would scare the shit out of me. But this Jack. This is Jack’s attempt to ‘save his macho identity.’ Please. How pathetic. He and I both know I could stop this whole thing with one word. Jack would never do anything to hurt me. At least on purpose. And how was he to know that silk ties can cut off circulation...? How was I to know that Jack even had enough fashion sense to own silk ties?

As for my current particular predicament... He may be carrying me, but I still have the upper hand.

I land on the bed with a thump and bounce. The second bounce would be Jack landing next to me. I wrestle off the sheet and peer over at him. “You think you’ve won, don’t you?”

“Look, Mr. Smarty-Pants, I know damn well you weren’t really going to leave. Point: You aren’t suicidal. Point: You and I both know you’d kill yourself driving without your glasses. Point: Your glasses are still on the coffee table. Conclusion: You weren’t actually going to leave. You were just fucking with me.”

“Point: Talking like a mission summary does *not* turn me on. And besides, maybe I was going to pick them up after I got my coat.” I twist the sheet up into a rope and loop it behind his neck. We’ve given up pretending that this won’t eventually lead to sex. I tug him in, he stubbornly pulls back. “And I have not yet *begun* to fuck with you.” I raise my eyebrows at him.

Jack raises his eyebrows back at me, “Not quite an apology, but it’ll do.”

“_Me_ apologize? Fuck you! You were the one packing me off to the couch.”

“You were the one who didn’t want me touching you in the briefing.”

“What I didn’t want was you sloshing coffee on my hands and scalding them!”

“And when I slid my knee against yours? So much for friendly gestures!”

“You little...! First of all, you didn’t slide up against me. You bumped me. In blatant retaliation for bumping you. Second of all, even if it was the ‘friendly’ gesture you claim it was, we promised to never be that ‘friendly’ on base, so it still serves you right.”

I could see him gathering up a retort. What Jack would call zero-hundred hours is no time for this dumb argument. Time to get the show on the road. I kiss him. He mumbles something I can’t understand and I kiss him again.

“Always have to get the last word in, dontcha?” he asks as he starts unbuttoning my shirt.

“Complaining about my methods of shutting you up?”

Jack pretends to think about this. “I could think of worse ways to accomplish this goal. I could also think of better...” he trails off as he pushes my shirt off and starts on my Chinos.

As he tugs them down with my boxers I barely have the presence of mind to gasp out, “So can I.”

My world dissolves into warmth and wetness. Jack was clearly not thinking of Mayan ruins when we were watching t.v., so he has a bit of head start on me and for a moment or two, he can fit all of me into his mouth. That’s the most incredible sensation, feeling myself lengthen and harden in his mouth. It lasts until I bump his soft palate. He gags just a little and pulls back only as far as he needs to so that he can breathe. I’ve noticed over the past few months that that distance is getting shorter and shorter.

I reach over and tug on his belt until he carefully maneuvers himself around to straddle me, his knees next to my ears. My fingers shake as I busy myself pulling his t-shirt out of his pants and discover that I’m running short on braincells as I try to untie his sweats. I end up knotting them on accident. I groan in frustration with both the knot and Jack who has released my cock and is now licking the crease of my thigh.

“Having trouble?”

“Not as much as you’re going to have if you leave me hanging like this.” I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I really didn’t. Jack thinks it’s amusing. He thinks I’m so worried about saying and doing the right thing and not upsetting anyone that sex melts my brain and the ‘real me’ comes pouring out. He also says it turns him on when I get ... aggressive. So I end up feeling like a total jerk when stuff like that slips out, until he smiles and does whatever it was that I wanted.

I’m still fighting with that damn drawstring, which is right over my face, so I begin blowing a stream of warm air through the knit. An outside observer would think Jack had a mouse in his pants. Actually a mouse doesn’t do Jack justice... more like a ferret. I called it a little weasel once and got my butt smacked. Jack actually thought that would *deter* me from doing it again. Incidentally, the next place our said outsider would be observing would be the morgue.

Just as I finally make some headway on that damn knot, Jack pulls my balls out of the way to start licking behind them. I drop my head back on the mattress and just _writhe_. Jack’s going all out tonight to hit almost every kink I have.

When he lets up I lay panting for a few minutes and try and calm down just a little. Now that we’ve stopped trying to out-maneuver each other, I want this to last. Jack’s always giving me crap about being nine years younger than he is, but thirty five is a long way from seventeen. My batteries still need almost as much recharge time as his do. On a few occasions, mine have needed more.

When I’m breathing more steadily, I began my assault on his pants yet again. I barely get my fingers hooked in the waistband when he braces himself on his arms and levers himself off of me.

“Too slow Danny, we ship out at nine-hundred tomorrow and I don’t think it would do to explain that we were late because you couldn’t get my pants off.”

He strips quickly and lays back over me, this time with our heads on the same end of the bed. He gives me the look I’ve come to know and love. The one that asks if I’ll let him in tonight. He never assumes. After the first time he made love to me we were so enraptured by the experience that we tried to do it the next night. We weren’t as careful and I was sore to begin with (and boy did Jack give me hell for not mentioning _that_ to him) and I literally ended up shoving him on the floor. So now he always asks - with his eyes - and I’m always honest. We’ve had enough... practice now that soreness isn’t a big factor on either of our parts, but it never hurts to ask.

My eyes answer: Hell yes and as soon as possible.

Jack grins rakishly and pulls me around so that my head is actually at the head of the bed. When I reach under the pillow for the tube we keep there, I feel my wrist captured and the sheet rope I made before wrapped around it. My other wrist follows suit. As Jack shoves the loose ends of the sheet under the pillow, I find that I’m bucking into the air just at the idea.

Jack and I have talked this one to death. I discovered during one of my more rebellious phases as an undergrad that I like being tied up. And even after all I’ve been through with various Unases - the so-called ‘Demon’ in that pseudo-Christian village and the one who thought I was a cute pull-toy - I still have a kink for ropes.

Jack, on the other hand, is possibly the least kinky person I know. At least when it comes to the bondage and domination kind of thing. I think his time in special ops has pretty much taken away the allure of being tied up or being hit. I told him that while I do _like_ that sort of thing, I don’t _need_ it.

But sometimes Jack tries. Just for me. It’s only one of the things that makes me love him so much. This was one of my ideas - the symbolic bondage. I could wiggle out of this sheet in five seconds flat. And Jack knows that which is why he’s okay with doing it to me. But the idea is there. It’s not that I _can’t_ move, it’s that I’m not _supposed_ to.

Jack has my knees on his shoulders and is sliding two fingers in and out of my body slowly. I turn my hands carefully so they won’t slip out of their make-shift bonds and grip the pillows. The burning in Jack’s eyes lets me know I could be in for the ride of my life.

A little more scissoring and then a third finger.

“Now, Jack. I’m so ready I may start without you if you don’t get this show in the road.”

The first time I said that, Jack thought I meant to say “on the road”, but was so far gone I couldn’t even get cliches right. I hated to burst his bubble, but I had to point out that I was quite sure I meant ‘in’.

Jack slides in in one smooth stroke and finds my ‘happy place’ - as he calls it - on the first try. Well, okay, it’s far from the first try, and I think he’s pretty well memorized where it is and how to get there. And one thing Jack is, is a _damn_ good marksman.

Once he’s sure he’s locked onto his target and I’m already starting to see stars, he throws his head back and I can tell the exact moment he’s moving for him more than for me. He knows I’m so far gone that a stiff breeze will send me over and though he never really loses sight of my pleasure, there’s always that moment when I can tell that he’s striving for his own release.

Jack’s been trying to get a bead on what I can see without my glasses for years now. It’s kind of funny. When we first started sleeping together he asked me if I planned on wearing them when we made love. I told them that I had pretty good focus up to about six feet away. If he planned on making love to me from more than six feet away, we had a lot more to talk about than my visual acuity.

I’m very glad I can see his face. More often than not I can hold myself back until I see his eyes close, his mouth open and the lines on his forehead deepen. Then, just as he comes, he opens his eyes and the look I see in them...

That’s why we make love before missions. Because if I lose him tomorrow, it’s that look I want to remember. The feeling of him in and around me. The sound of him breathing my name as he comes.

“Danny...”

Jack doesn’t shout when he comes. He whispers. It’s the most amazing thing, given how loud he is the rest of the time. It’s an incredible feeling to know that all that tenderness and love is saved for me.

I feel him push into me one last time and let go of the orgasm I’ve been reigning in ruthlessly.

Jack pinches my nipple as I come, making me arch and gasp just that little bit more to take me from ‘really good’ to ‘damn-near-going-to-kill-me.’

When I relax and open my eyes, I notice that I’ve wiggled out of the sheet around my arms. I reach up and grab it, wad it up and throw it on the floor. Jack is snuggled up around me, his head on my chest. We’re both still breathing hard.

“What are the odds I can convince you to get up tonight?” he whispers.

Try as we might, we can never seem to remember to get a washcloth and keep it on the nightstand _before_ we go to bed. Even on the nights we’re not trying to one-up each other.

I run my fingers through his thick hair. “I can’t move with you on top of me.”

Jack gives me a long-suffering sigh and slides onto the pillow. “There.”

I glare at him for assuming that I was capitulating. “Fine,” I mutter and pad into the bathroom. I clean myself up and run a clean washcloth under the tap. The cold tap. He deserves it for all the crap he’s given me today. And as for elbow room... he gets the side of the bed with the wet spot tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently 'back in the day' I thought it was a good idea to write in alternating first person POVs.


End file.
